Dropping off Abby at school, I wonder about the wealth among the people that take their kids to school there.
These days, caring for a kid is not the cheapest of endeavors. They need clothes and food at minimum. Medical care is important. And the cost of daycare can be killer. So it’s not really surprising that half of the cars in the parking lot at Abby’s daycare school are a Lexus.
The thing I was noticing in particular on this icy morning is something about the other kinds of cars in the lot. Having spent a good ten minutes scraping the ice off of my car this morning, it occurred to me that even after all of that effort, the rest of my car (the non-glass parts) my car was still covered in a thing sheen of ice.
I looked around at the other cars in the lot and noticed that even the less expensive cars didn’t exhibit this feature. The only other cars in the lot that were icy were the school’s own minivans.
From this, I can draw the conclusion that these folks probably all park their cars in garages. This is an interesting tidbit of knowledge to tuck away about the uppercrusty class that we’ve fallen in with while trying to get better daycare for our kid. It explains a lot about why I don’t feel like I fit in with these people.
I know that there shouldn’t be any real difference between people who have money and those who don’t have a lot, but I’m wondering if that’s just a weird lie that the slowly evaporating middle class tells themselves to keep from crying themselves to sleep. Socially, I’m not going to be involved with people of better means. I’m not even really interested in what they do socially. At the same time, I enjoy the civility that is present in their social circles.
Later on my drive to work (after passing a truly horrific ice-induced road accident) I stopped at the Wawa in town for my morning soda. All of the cars in the lot had unscraped ice on their hoods. There were guys standing in the lot in work clothes - overalls and boots - sucking down coffee and speaking in the local Mexican’s broken Spanish. It’s a completely different social stratum.
And then compare that to the Turkey Hill convenience store across town near my office- The people in there rarely bathe, hardly shave or style their hair, are often obviously the unfortunate victim of their mother drinking during pregnancy, and all too frequently stop for $5 of gas, a $3 pack of smokes, and $10 in lottery scratch-offs.
The more often I find myself stopping at Turkey Hill for their cheap and delicious personal pizzas, the more I wonder whether I am an honorary member of the social outcast group. Do I have any hope of hobnobbing with the “social elite” parents of the kids at Abby’s school?
It’s weird to think about because every so often the parents at Abby’s school behave as though they can smell the Turkey Hill on me. “You’ve been messing around down with the low people again, haven’t you?” And oddly, I’m not really thinking that way, about “low people”.
I look at those people and think that it’s unfortunate that we all don’t have the same opportunities in life, but we all make of it what we can. Some choices I don’t agree with (smoking, lottery as a lifestyle, lack of basic grooming) but those are so often the indicator of ones pride in himself. Is the point of failure the point when you give up trying to be better than what you are? Who decides what’s better, anyway?
In the meantime, I worry that Abby’s friends will want to play with Abby at home. And when the parents drop off their kids, they’ll see the little home we’ve made - the one that we’ve done as best we can - and that’ll be the last play date between their kid and Abby. At least, the last one that’s at our house. The word will migrate around the “superior” social circles, and the sand will shift. Abby will have a new set of friends - one more appropriate to our means, but perhaps less appropriate to her aspirations.
I guess our new house had better have a two-car garage.
